A Conversation with Corwin
by Cynewulf
Summary: Eric's Conversation with Corwin via Trump, while Corwin was on the ship, attacking Amber (the scene from "Nine Princes"). Only, it's Eric's PoV. A one shot.


Disclaimer: The characters, as well the dialogue lines, belong to Roger Zelazny. The only thing that is mine are Eric's thoughts   
  
between the dialogue lines.  
  
P  
  
It was somewhat of a family tradition to do a reading whenever we are upset, or are standing before a big decision, or something;   
  
the cards didn't tell me anything new this time, though. He kept coming back as the key card: Corwin, all self sure and smug and   
  
complacent, standing there and looking down on the whole world. I imagined him lying on the ground under my boot - the thing I   
  
hadn't done in couple of centuries, actually - but it didn't feel quite right any more... When I was younger I was filled with hatred -   
  
healthy, burning, crimson hatred. Now I just felt ... nauseated.   
  
P  
  
The Jewel pulsing at my breast, apprehension filling my stomach, I held his Trump in front of my eyes, concentrating on it, but not   
  
quite; I tried just to brush his mind with my own, to read his thought in an instant, and than disappear - just like Dworkin tried to   
  
teach us while we were too young and arrogant to actually listen. I felt his mind close me out but still I tried to read some of it   
  
before it closed off completely for me. But it was too late, he had noticed me.  
  
P  
  
"Who?" he growled. Always perfectly polite, our Corwin.  
  
P  
  
I was tired, so terribly tired, but I didn't want him to notice of course. If he saw only one weak spot in me, he'd jump for it, seizing   
  
the opportunity - but it was all right, I would have done the same. Those were rules of the game. I put on a smug smile in order to   
  
irritate him (which was about the only thing I was able to do at the moment).  
  
P  
  
"How goes the world with thee, brother?"   
  
P  
  
"Poorly," he said. He looked exhausted too, exhausted and somehow shrunken, bags under his eyes matching the ones under my   
  
own. His cloak was dusty, his breastplate stained, his condition all in all - poorly. It made me sick. I wanted my enemies in shining   
  
armor and silks, cheeky and smug and grinning - it was easier to hate them that way.  
  
P  
  
And yet he seemed no less resolute. There was a strength in Corwin - vulgar, stubborn strength of a survivor that didn't let him go   
  
under, no matter what. You had to respect that. I almost wished I didn't hate him this much - I might have offered him a bargain   
  
then.   
  
P  
  
"Too bad," I shrugged. "Had you come back and supported me, I would have done well by you. Now, of course, it is too late.   
  
Now, I will only rejoice when I have broken both you and Bleys."   
  
P  
  
He kept silent and looked at me with disdain. I could have hit him. iI/i had offered ihim/i some respect, at least. I felt   
  
him struggle, trying to break free, but I held him. We glared at each other, none of us moving, none of us daring to look other way. I   
  
almost got the upper hand, but not quite. I'm afraid I have to say we were even in that, as we have always been even in everything   
  
else - winning over the other one was difficult, but it seemed to be our first and foremost goal in life. And now I just wondered if it   
  
was worth...  
  
P  
  
It took me some time to notice I was stroking the Jewel at my breast, playing with a thought... If I were to attack him   
  
ithrough/i the Jewel, would it work? I was rather drained at the time, previously having spent hour after hour creating pretty   
  
nuclear storms for Bleys... But, were I to attack at once, with all my strength, using the Jewel - would my brother break? I tried to   
  
rejoice in the thought as it flew trough my head, at the same time taking care to hide it from Corwin, as we fought - but I suddenly   
  
realized I didn't want to try. Were I to win over Corwin, I wanted to do it imyself/i, and not to gain the upper hand only   
  
because I somehow had a powerful weapon and he didn't. iHe/i might have done it, had the places been reversed. iI/i   
  
didn't want to. And it's not scruples (what are those?), it's just that, were I to triumph, I wanted to triumph icompletely/i. I   
  
didn't want it said that Eric won just because he was lucky to hold the Jewel at the time. I wanted to win because I was stronger of   
  
will, or not at all...  
  
P  
  
My attention was wavering, but so was his. Focusing, I tried another attack - not a strong one, because that would drain too much   
  
of my defense energy, and I would have to leave an opening. If my attack wasn't strong enough, Corwin would seize the chance and   
  
attack himself, even if it cost him both victory and life. I knew him - and myself - well enough to understand this.  
  
P  
  
He was the one to make an opening first - just for a part of a second; it wasn't enough for me to plunge into his mind, but I   
  
succeeded in catching a thought or two... He was worried, and not because of himself - this was a new moment. I would have bet   
  
my life on the fact that he would sacrifice everyone else if it meant he would be saved... And now this? Caring more about his men's   
  
lives than his own freedom? Should I consider him a fool or respect him? Was it possible that he had learned the meaning of the   
  
word 'responsibility' while he was away? It sounded most improbable for the Corwin I knew - and yet, the thought was there. What   
  
was I supposed to do? Use it against him, of course. What else?  
  
P  
  
"I feel your troubled thought," I said. "Yes, I am coordinated with Caine. He contacted me after your parley. I can hold you thus   
  
while your fleet is demolished around you and sent down to Rebma to rot. The fishes will eat your men."  
  
P  
  
I thought I saw him wince.  
  
P  
  
"Wait," he said. "They are guiltless. Bleys and I have misled them, and they think we are in the right. Their deaths would serve no   
  
purpose. I was preparing to surrender the fleet."  
  
P  
  
I arched an eyebrow. Hadn't I been able to feel his thought, know he was sincere in this, I would have been sure he was saying this   
  
only to gain time. His men were guiltless? Misled? I wouldn't have expected Corwin even to remember anyone else but him   
  
iexisted/i, not to mention their guilt, or the lack thereof. He seemed really to care, and I didn't know how to react. The only   
  
thing I knew was that I didn't want him as a martyr, a brave prince of Amber who surrendered himself in order to save his men's   
  
lives. That kind of myth wouldn't suite me at all, not at all... And besides, he was too strong. Who were to assure me he wouldn't   
  
attack me the moment I released him? iI/i may have been tempted to do so had the situation been reversed. I wasn't   
  
iafraid/i of Corwin, this was just... common sense.  
  
P  
  
"Then you should not have taken so long," I said, "for now it is too late. I cannot call Caine to countermand my orders, without   
  
releasing you, and the moment I release you I will fall beneath your mental domination or suffer physical assault. Our minds are too   
  
proximate."  
  
P  
  
"Supposing I give you my word that I won't do this thing?"  
  
P  
  
His word... Yes. I would have trusted it in anything but this.  
  
P  
  
"Any man would be forsworn to gain a kingdom,"   
  
P  
  
"Can't you read the thought? Can't you feel it within my mind? I'll keep my word!"  
  
P  
  
You ithink/i you would, brother Corwin, I thought. I iknow/i you think so now; I can see it and feel it, I can almost   
  
itouch/i your thought. Yet, I dare not trust you, as I wouldn't trust myself either, not in this.  
  
P  
  
"I feel there is a strange compassion for these men you have duped, and I know not what may have caused such a bond, but no.   
  
You know it yourself. Even if you are sincere at this moment-as you well may be-the temptation will be too great the instant the   
  
opportunity occurs. You know it yourself. I can't risk it."  
  
P  
  
We looked at each other with a mutual understanding, if just for a moment. Perhaps he had always hated me so because I could   
  
understand him: both his flaws and virtues (he had isome/i, I'll give you that). Perhaps iI/i had hated ihim/i because   
  
he knew my own motives better than I myself did sometimes. Perhaps we would have been friends had we not been brothers - and   
  
enemies. The thought scared me, and I felt my concentration waver. I was aware of the Jewel pulsing at my breast. Not wanting to   
  
let him see my thoughts, I changed the subject abruptly.  
  
P  
  
"Your swordsmanship has increased remarkably," I said, leaning on the bookshelf nonchalantly. "I see that your exile has done you   
  
some good in that respect. You are closer to being my equal now than anyone save Benedict, who may well be dead."  
  
P  
  
His eyes lit up, as he looked at me, and I knew his mind at once, although I haven't felt his thought this time. I had given him a false   
  
hope, although I didn't mean to.  
  
P  
  
"Don't flatter yourself," he said. "I know I can take you now. In fact-"  
  
P  
  
He smiled smugly as he said that; that smile of his had always driven me nuts.  
  
P  
  
"Don't bother," I cut him off and smiled myself. Smile for smile. Let ihim/i get irritated a bit. "I won't duel with you at this late   
  
date,"   
  
P  
  
Corwin had bettered me the last time we fought, in the library - I had already been quite exhausted at the time, though. He had   
  
improved his skill while away, but on the other hand, so have I. There was no telling who would win this time - and the thought of   
  
fighting a duel looked quite appealing, actually. I have to admit I was tempted. Dueling for the throne... It sounded like a thing from   
  
one of those soppy ballads of Corwin's. I wouldn't risk Amber just to see who would win, though. Don't you give me that gallant   
  
crap, brother. You know I like it much more than is good for me.   
  
P  
  
I had to admit him to one thing, and that was guts. Really.  
  
P  
  
"I more than half wish you had stood by me," I said. "I could have used you more than any of the others. Julian I spit upon. Caine   
  
is a coward. Gerard is strong, but stupid."  
  
P  
  
Hell, my concentration had grown low, and I was speaking my thoughts aloud again. Caine I've never liked - he was sneaky even for   
  
an Amberite, and I have always hated knife-in-the-dark plots, which was Caine's favorite method. I consider that cowardly. Julian...   
  
He has always been so self centered that it hurt. What qualities did he have to be so proud of? Always in his shining, stainless whites   
  
that irriteted the ass out of me. I don't know how many times I had wished to pour wine on his clothes, just to see his face when he   
  
notices the stain. Jerk. A rather useful jerk, but jerk all the same. Gerard, now... Gerard was okay. Really. The only ethical one of us   
  
(except Benedict, but I thought Benedict dead at the time). Gerard was the only person whose opinion about me mattered to me, if   
  
just a little. On the other hand, he was quite simple. Sorry to say it, but he wasn't brainy.  
  
P  
  
And then, there was Corwin. Tired, drained, jaded. I wondered if I was that pale. And yet he was strong. I had to strengthen my   
  
defenses, I had to concentrate... The Jewel at my breast pulsed and pulsed, and I was dizzy.  
  
P  
  
"Listen," he said. "I conned Random into coming here with me. He wasn't hot on the idea. I think he would have supported you,   
  
had you asked him."  
  
P  
  
Caring about others again? I would have thought he was playing some game, but there was his thought, clear and sincere. He didn't   
  
even try to hide it from me. His motive was simply protecting Random, with no hidden intentions there. Strange, very strange... My   
  
opinion on Random didn't matter here (that little honourless trickster!). What dazzled me was this change in Corwin: trying to save   
  
others if he himself couldn't be saved. It sounded like a Gerard-ish thing to do: the one everyone approves of, but no one save   
  
Gerard does it in praxis... I don't think I would have done it myself, for example, to be completely frank. It was atypical thing to do,   
  
for an Amberite... And here was Corwin, sincerely caring? I wasn't sure I liked that. I wanted the spoilt, egoistic brat I used to know,   
  
the one I could simply, guiltlessly hate. You have changed, brother... but what was I supposed to do about it? Spare Random?   
  
Trust him, only to be betrayed? I was sentimental sometimes, but I was no fool. Trust Random! The thought made me sick.  
  
P  
  
"That bastard!" I said. "I wouldn't trust him to empty chamber pots. One day I'd find a piranha in mine. No thanks. I might have   
  
pardoned him, save for your present recommendation. You'd like me to clasp him to my bosom and call him brother now, wouldn't   
  
you? Oh no! You leap too quickly to his defense. It reveals his true attitude, of which he has doubtless made you aware. Let us   
  
forget Random in the courts of clemency."  
  
P  
  
I caught his thought then, a worried, sickening thought, rattle of weapons somewhere close, smoke in the air. So, Caine has finally   
  
arrived?  
  
P  
  
"Good," I said with some relief. How much longer could I hold him like this? My eyes were unfocused, and I was painfully aware   
  
of the Jewel pulsing at my breast. I should have taken it off, damn, I didn't liked the effect it seemed to have on me. I held on to the   
  
bookshelf, unsure if I could stand without help. Whiskey! I needed it badly, just a gulp, but I didn't dare unfocuse my attention any   
  
more. Lights danced in front of my eyes, and I thought my head would explode. How much longer?  
  
P  
  
"Stop them! Please! My men don't have a chance against that many!"  
  
P  
  
Darn his men, I needed a whiskey! My head throbbed, and my hands shook as I moved them along the bookshelf, searching for the   
  
bottle. Just a gulp of whiskey to give me some strength. Just half the sip. There! The bottle! His men? What should I do, spare their   
  
lives and let it be heard how brave and noble Prince Corwin was? Sacrificed himself for the sake of his men and such crap. Support   
  
of the nobles was already shaky, and I couldn't afford to give them another myth to admire. Some of them already called me   
  
usurper, although not to my face, of course. I hated them but I needed them behind me, all of them. Can't let their allegiances split,   
  
and some of them would turn against me, were Corwin to return in this fashion, that was for sure.   
  
P  
  
"Not even were you to yield-" I began, and cursed feeling the bottle slip from my shaky hands and fall. It's crack sounded distant   
  
and vague, and thoughts inside my head were raging.  
  
P  
  
He looked at me, then, and chuckled. I could have killed him, but I chose to strengthen my defenses instead, at least a bit. My head   
  
was spinning, I leaned onto the bookshelf heavily, and tryed to gain the control of my hand for enough time to take the Jewel off.   
  
Somehow, I was sure this was its effect. I had used it for too long in a row, I...  
  
P  
  
I wanted this conversation to end. Where's Cain? Doesn't dare attack Corwin's ship? Coward. I wanted him to come, I wanted this   
  
conversation to end! Corwin looked at me, and enjoyed my condition, bastard.   
  
P  
  
"I'll have you soon, anyhow," I managed. "As soon as they take the flagship."  
  
P  
  
"Until then," he growled, "try this!"   
  
P  
  
And he hit me with a vortex of hatred then, boring into my mind, ruining, destroying. He hit me with his London and his plague, his   
  
bitterness and his exile; my own feeling of guilt that I have restrained for so long turned against me, too, joined his attack, making   
  
me hurl inwardly. Have I made him do this, by staying indifferent to his appeals? Or did he plan this all along, bastard, distracting   
  
me all the time, only to attack when I was weakest? I tried to hold onto the last scraps of my sanity as well as onto the bookshelf. I   
  
tried to reach the Jewel with my mind, but I had to release Corwin to do it. At the same instant, he hit me with his pain and his anger   
  
and his lust for vengeance, I felt him raging inside my mind, as the last of my defense barriers went down.   
  
P  
  
"You devil!" I screamed, as I covered his bloody Trump with my hand, breaking the contact.  
  
P  
  
I stumbled onto the sofa, hurting, feeling ill and empty at the same time, wanting to vomit and not having the strength for it. I just lay   
  
there, shaking uncontrollably, trying not to feel. And the Jewel... The bastard still pulsed at my breast, unchanged and unchangeable.   
  
P 


End file.
